Better the Devil You Know
by indigovioletstargazer
Summary: A collection of Homeland one-shots, unlikely to be interconnected... mostly short fics written in response to prompts, or just my random ideas. Spoilers for S3.
1. Better the Devil You Know

**_Authors note:_**

_I'm going to post some Homeland one-shots here, unlikely to be inter-connected... mostly short fics that I write in response to any prompts, or just my own random ideas. Please feel free to send me any prompts. If I think it is something that I can attempt for you, then I will._

...

I wrote this short Homeland fic in response to the hilarious prompt from **badgirls16** on Tumblr...

_**Carrie & Quinn forced to go to the Langley Halloween party in costume…**_

_(Warning: Contains some spoilers for Season 3 Ep 8.)._

_**...**_

**BETTER THE DEVIL YOU KNOW**

"Can I get you a drink?" The male voice was semi-muffled by the loose, white cotton shroud covering his entire body. "A soft drink of course."

"Who's actually under this old sheet?" Carrie frowned and hid the beer bottle behind her back. She peered closely through the two small jagged holes, that seemed to have been roughly cut out with a knife. She could just about see the cool blue eyes underneath. "Peter Quinn? You reckon this counts as a Halloween costume?!"

"All I had in my apartment," Quinn sounded hurt. "I'm a ghost which is at least appropriate for this type of party. Unlike some of the other costumes I can see…"

"What's wrong with _my_ costume?" Carrie's hand darted to the small red horns perched on top of her blonde locks.

"A red plastic hairband hardly counts as a Halloween costume," snorted Quinn.

"I'm wearing Prada though." Carrie smoothed fingers down her red leather skirt. "_The Devil wears Prada_…"

"Trust you to be clever and obscure," Quinn's eyes never left Carrie's black glossy fingernails trailing down to her knee.

"Oh pardon me for not coming predictably dressed as a witch," sniped Carrie, gesturing to their cackling colleagues. "Or as one of the other eight ghosts in this room."

"I actually thought you might come as a _Mummy_," Quinn's accusing eyebrow arched underneath the white sheet.

"Shhh…" Carrie's eyes darted nervously, checking if anyone else had heard.

"You need to tell Saul," Quinn leant close to Carrie's ear. She could feel his warm breath through the cotton fabric. "Soon."

"It's none of your business Quinn." Carrie took a defiant swig from her beer bottle.

"It could be my business," Quinn's grip was gentle on Carrie's wrist as he manoeuvred the bottle of alcohol away from her lips. "If you'd let me help you…"

"Help?!" Carrie was incredulous and mocking. "From you!" She shook her head. "The guy who actually shot me!"

"I had to. You know that." Quinn sounded strained. "I didn't trust anyone else to take the shot… but if I'd known about your baby, of course I'd have never…"

"Brody's baby!" Carrie reached for a nearby chair to sink into.

"Carrie, you can't keep putting yourself in danger." Quinn pulled the white cotton sheet up and over his head and plonked himself down next to her.

"What am I going to do?" Carrie stared at Quinn's unusually flattened hair. She fought against the urge to spike it up with her fingertips.

"Well, I'm here for you," Quinn swallowed tightly. "Always have been and always will be. I've got your back."

"Thanks," Carrie looked down and tugged at her waistband. "Hell, this skirt is so uncomfortable. It's getting too tight."

"Maybe the Devil should be thinking about maternity clothing instead of Prada?" Quinn eyed her slightly rounded tummy affectionately.

"You know any good stores?" sniffed Carrie.

"Well, Julia got all hers from…" Quinn stopped as if deciding that he was revealing too much.

"You know for somebody who says he's got my back… I know nothing about you." Carrie hissed. "You're still a mystery."

"I don't have to be," Quinn tentatively reached for Carrie's hand. "You already know more about me than most." He eyed their dancing colleagues. Saul was wobbling around dressed as a menacing pumpkin. "You could know everything. You only need to ask me."

"Maybe it's best I don't," Carrie withdrew her hand carefully. "Maybe I'll stick with what I know. With _who_ I know."

"Brody?!" Quinn shook his head. "You just can't let him go, can you? Even after everything he's done!"

"Better the Devil you know," Carrie's eyes had brightened and she was staring distractedly beyond Quinn.

"More like speak of the Devil and he's bound to appear," Quinn sighed as he turned and spotted the tall, bald figure entering through the doorway.


	2. Only a Fool

I wrote this Homeland fic in response to the fab prompt from mississippi-moonchild on Tumblr...

_**A fanfic where Peter Quinn turns out to be hot bearded guys friends...**_

_(Set during S3 E9 -"One Last Time")_

**...**

**ONLY A FOOL**

**...**

"I didn't expect to see _you_ here." Peter Quinn strode across the room and followed Carrie's gaze through the huge window. He spotted a bald head bobbing amongst the dark haired runners in the distance and squinted. "No way! Is that…?"

Carrie turned awkwardly, arm in sling, lips twisting in annoyance at the intrusion. "Saul didn't tell you?"

"Saul said he'd found some guy in Caracas for his Javadi play," Quinn shook his head in disbelief. "Mentioned these guys were doing some intensive training with him here at Dam Neck."

"Guess Saul is keeping his cards close to his chest," Carrie shrugged. "Some elements of the CIA might not approve of Brody's involvement."

"Damn right," Quinn huffed, before biting his lip.

"Why are you here?" Carrie craned her neck, trying to see where the runners had gone. "Come to apologise for shooting me?"

"No, why would I?" Quinn jutted his chin in mock defiance. "I followed a direct order. I'd have more to apologise for if I'd allowed you to chase Paul Franklin into that motel room."

"Well, thanks for doing your job so well," Carrie flinched as she readjusted her sling. "So why are you here?"

"Social reasons," Quinn looked secretive.

"Peter Quinn actually has friends?" Carrie arched an amused eyebrow.

"Is that so hard to believe?" Quinn's raised his own eyebrow, mirroring hers. "I do recall assuring you that I was _pretty likeable_ once."

"And _extremely reliable _as I remember," Carrie smiled at the memory. "So which of the hunky bearded guys is unlucky enough to be your friend?"

"Yousef," Quinn mumbled. "Turani."

"The very lovely Doctor Turani?" Carrie was intrigued.

Quinn nodded. "We've been best mates for years."

"Doctor Turani's been looking after Brody," Carrie sighed. "He seems like a good guy."

"He's the best," Quinn checked his beeping cell phone. "Ah, a text from the man himself. He'll be here shortly… Turani's just got back from his run."

"You know I overhead Doctor Turani telling Brody about a good friend of his," Carrie eyed Quinn, suddenly suspicious. "A friend who's incapable of telling a colleague how much he cares for her."

"What?" Quinn scowled and put his hands in his pockets. "Why would Turani be having a conversation like that with Brody?"

"They were talking about women. Like these Marines and Navy SEALS do. Then they got serious… talked about Turani's family… about falling in love." Carrie shrugged. "Turani said that this good friend lost his girlfriend and son because he emotionally detached himself from them. He did more and more missions, became mentally isolated. Found it harder to look them in the eye. She left him."

"She'll be better off without him." Quinn swallowed tightly and looked away. "He sounds like an idiot."

"Apparently Turani's friend likes someone new, but he won't ever attempt a relationship again," Carrie pressed on, analysing Quinn's expression. "Turani said that his friend is too afraid to reconnect with his heart in case it gets broken again."

"Turani spouted all this psycho-analytical bullcrap to _Brody_!" Quinn coughed as he laughed cynically. "Honestly… Turani thinks everyone should be loved up and in touch with their feelings… playing happy families just like him."

"How come you guys are best friends?" Carrie asked, tossing her hair.

"We did a free fall parachuting course together," Quinn composed himself. "Turani took me under his wing. We were opposites. I'd never had a friend before, whilst he was Mr Popular. I was a rebel, he did everything by the book. We had each other's backs."

"Still do, don't we Quinn?" The southern drawl from behind made Carrie jump.

"Hey watch your arm there, Miss Mathison." Yousef Turani grinned and patted Carrie's shoulder gently. "You wanna go see Brody in his bunk? He's sore! He did well today though. Ran miles without stopping. Whatever fire you put under his ass last week has worked a treat."

Carrie's eyes widened at the shirtless Yousef Turani, before she glanced awkwardly at Quinn. "Ummm… Yeah I'll go check on Brody. See you around, Quinn."

"You know her?" Turani inclined his head and wiped the rivulets off his forehead with a towel. "The CIA woman who's been hanging around here?"

Quinn nodded and sighed. "I work with Carrie."

"Hell, she's not _the one_ is she?" Turani stroked his beard as he stared after Carrie thoughtfully. "The one you're too scared to tell…"

"No," Quinn shook his head. "Only a fool would fall for Carrie Mathison."


	3. Messages and Miracles

This brilliant prompt was from fava-beans-and-chianti on Tumblr...

**_Quinn visits Carrie post-op. she is drugged up on morphine and is barely conscious when she says something that piques his interest in her past._**

I'll admit I found this one very challenging, but here goes...

Set early in S3 E9 - "One Last Time" (and expands on what Carrie told Brody in S2 E12 "The Choice").

**...**

**Messages and Miracles**

**...**

"Let's go," Carrie stirred and shuffled in her hospital bed, eyes still tightly closed. "C'mon! He says it's time to go."

"Carrie?" Quinn pulled his visitor's chair closer. He cleared his throat and reached across to try and calm her.

"Please come," Carrie seemed completely unaware of Quinn as she pleaded with a visage in her internal world. "He's bought a camper so we can all go together."

Quinn frowned and wondered if she was dreaming or reliving a memory.

"It was in the stars." Carrie started writhing and sobbing. "He saw the message. He's so excited. You have to come to the Great Lakes with us."

"Shhh..." Quinn stroked her forearm gently, trying to avoid the cannula in the back of her hand. "It's OK."

"You'll miss the miracle." Carrie became more distraught. "It's going to happen right there. Please Mom! Dad says it's important..." She started clawing anxiously at her bed-sheets, head now flailing against her pillow. "Don't let her go to _CVS_. She'll never come back." Carrie whimpered as Quinn reached to stroke her tangled hair. "Dad! Frank! Are you listening to me?"

"Carrie, can you hear me?" Quinn whispered. "It's Quinn."

"Don't hate Mom anymore, Maggie," Carrie pleaded in a defeated tone. "It's mine and Dad's fault she's gone." She jerked and turned to face her visitor. Her gaze was unfocused at first, but she seemed to gain some sense of his presence. "Quinn?"

"Yeah?" His eyes were full of concern.

"My Dad is bipolar." Carrie looked completely disoriented. "My Mom left him the first day I went to college." She sighed and slurred slowly. "I'd believed everything my Dad had said."

"What did he say?" Quinn asked cautiously.

"He said Mom was the crazy one for not believing in the messages and miracles." Carrie murmured, still dazed.

"He was sick," Quinn shrugged, unsure what to say.

"I tried to see Dad's miracles too. Sometimes I'd pretend I could see them." Carrie's chin wobbled, tears welling. "Sometimes even Maggie said she could see them. The three of us... We drove my Mom away."

"You were a kid, Carrie." Quinn tried to reassure her.

"When I think of my Mom, she's still there shopping at _CVS_ and one day she'll return. Tell us we're going on a trip to her family's cabin." Carrie half-smiled now. "She'll have lost track of time and come home, see how well Dad is... and she'll stay forever."

"That's your biggest wish?" Quinn asked softly.

"There was no miracle at the Great Lakes." Carrie exhaled, completely subdued. "Me and Dad cried for days. He talked about suicide... That's when Mom and Maggie first told Dad to go see a Doctor." Carrie groaned. "Me too. Said we might both be sick."

"It's all in the past, Carrie." Quinn patted her uninjured shoulder gently. "You're doing great now."

"Mom loved my Dad. To stay with him the way he was for so long... if he'd been treated sooner... taken the medication... perhaps Mom would still be around. Enjoying being a Grandmother to Ruby and Josie... Looking forward to the new arrival..."

"New arrival?" Quinn frowned.

Carrie blinked back tears, "It'd be so much easier to deal with if my Mom was still around."

"What would be easier? What new arrival? You're not...?" Quinn tailed off, tasting his bile rising as he comprehended that he may have shot a pregnant woman. "Jesus, Carrie! Is the baby, ok?"

"Doctor said so." Carrie rubbed her abdomen and shuddered.

"It's a miracle." Quinn sighed with relief, raked his fingers through spiky hair.

"A curse more like." Carrie clenched and twisted the bed-sheet with her fingers.

"Don't say that. I'll keep you safe from now on," Quinn promised. "I'll help and protect you both."

"Quinn! Are you mad?" Carrie croaked and tried to sit up. "Do I look like I need help or protection?"

Quinn gazed down at Carrie in her spotty hospital gown. At her grey pallor, red rimmed eyes, greasy, knotted hair. The tubes going into her hand and nostrils. Her sling. "Yes."

"Get out of here." Carrie's eyes flashed, suddenly cognisant. "If you want to help me, then find Saul. Make sure someone is tailing Paul Franklin and Leland Bennett. Do your job!"

"Carrie," Quinn begged. "Please..."

"This protective _fatherly_ nonsense doesn't suit you," she hissed. "Get out of here. Kill some bad guys or something... Stick to what you're good at."

Quinn nodded sadly as he departed, knowing Carrie was probably right.


	4. Over the Border

This wonderful prompt was from luckyimpression on Tumblr...

_**How about a Yousef/OC AU: he's single (lol etc) where one of the former wives of a known terrorist comes along for the Brody drop off mission in exchange for American citizenship and saves the day.**_

Set in S3 E10 - "Good Night". However, in this Alternate Universe - Yousef Turani is single and the Navy SEALS have a feisty female accompanying them on their mission to get Brody into Iran.

**...**

**Over the Border**

**...**

"She likes you," Brody inclined his head towards the accompanying truck overtaking them on the dusty track.

"Shouldn't you be focusing on what you're gonna say once you're over the border?" Yousef Turani rolled his eyes. "Get your story straight for the Iranians?"

"I'd rather not think about meeting Danesh Akbari and Majid Javadi just yet," Brody shook his head. "Your love life is infinitely more entertaining and distracting right now."

"Love life?" Yousef waved dismissively. "Hell, I've been single for eighteen months!"

"Exactly," Brody patted Yousef's shoulder. "The gorgeous Samira Rezaei is single too. Why don't you make a move?"

"Make a move?!" Yousef squirmed. "On the feisty ex-wife of an Al-Qaeda Commander? Are you crazy?"

"You know Samira's moving to the United States after this operation," Brody leant close to his friend. "Getting citizenship for helping the CIA and you SEAL guys with this mission."

"So what?" Yousef's gaze flicked upwards. "I'll probably never see her again. America's a big place in case you hadn't noticed."

"I saw the way Samira was whispering to you in the camp this morning." Brody wouldn't let it go. "And you pair kept me awake all last night with your gossiping."

"She's a Medical Doctor like me," Yousef couldn't suppress his slow smile building as he recalled his long conversations with the beautiful Samira. "She's from the same town as my grandmother. We had a lot to talk about."

"Well, she can't keep her eyes off you," Brody's eyes twinkled as he teased. "When you were helping make breakfast for the guys, Samira was... transfixed."

Yousef smoothed his dark beard, his palm lingering over his mouth to hide his widening smile. "Maybe she likes staring at guys with beards."

"Don't be so lame... _All_ you Navy SEALS have beards!" Brody hooted. "Maybe Samira likes checking _you_ out?!"

Yousef's cheeks flushed before he retorted. "Like that blonde from the CIA who was always watching _you_?"

"Me and Carrie..." Brody's gaze clouded. "There was something... once."

"I knew it!" Yousef wagged his finger. "I could tell!"

"Stop changing the subject!" Brody composed himself and arched an eyebrow. "What are you going to do about Samira?"

"Why would a glamorous young woman be interested in a nobody like me?" Yousef shrugged humbly. "She's the most stunning girl I've ever met. Intelligent, brave, independent... I'm just an average guy."

Brody never got a chance to reply as their vehicle braked suddenly, almost hitting the truck in front. They saw their leader Azizi and the other occupants get out and stroll towards them.

"You'll walk from here." Samira's long dark lashes fluttered with trepidation as she appeared at Brody's window. "Are you ready?"

"He's ready," Yousef nodded confidently on Brody's behalf.

"Good," Samira flicked dust off her purple bejewelled hijab and tucked an errant glossy black curl underneath.

"Thanks for getting me here," Brody got out of the car and smiled at the exquisitely elegant woman. Her first-hand knowledge of the dangerous and mined terrain had got their elite team safely within a mile of the Iranian border.

"You're welcome," Samira lowered her gaze demurely and wrapped her arms tightly around her petite frame under the flowing abaya. "Be careful. Allahu Akbar."

Brody nodded solemnly and walked over towards Azizi and the other Navy SEALS who were huddled around a map.

Yousef slid across the seat and climbed out of the door where Samira waited. He nodded pensively at her, "Goodbye Doctor Rezaei."

"Please," she reprimanded him softly. "I already asked you to call me Samira."

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Samira." Yousef cleared his throat and fiddled with a button on the collar of his black robe. "Take care."

"Don't say it like that," Samira glared at him defiantly and dextrously took control of his errant buttonhole. "You'll be back within an hour. Isn't that the plan? You guys follow Brody to ensure he crosses the Iranian checkpoint, then you all return here and we drive back to the Military Airbase together?"

"I hope so." There was a tremor in Yousef's voice as he wondered if he'd ever look into her divine dark eyes again. "If it all goes according to plan."

"I have faith in you, Yousef Turani!" Samira winked and mischievously patted his beard.

Yousef blushed, the warmth from her deft fingers still lingering on his jaw. "I'll see you in an hour."

...

**Twenty two hours later**

"Hey," Brody kicked the snoozing Yousef on the sole of his shoe, before returning to his audiological vigil at their cell door. "Someone's coming. Someone's coming!"

Brody's breathing became erratic as he darted back towards Yousef, still slumped against the wall. The metal door creaked open and Majid Javadi and a guard entered their dimly lit cell. As the door banged, the guard swore in Farsi, ordering Yousef to his feet.

"My name is Nicholas Brody..." Brody tried to steady his breathing. "And I am formally seeking asylum in the Islamic Replubic of Iran."

Javadi nodded curtly, "I know who you are," before addressing Yousef in Farsi.

"Ayman Jassim," Yousef gave a false name and provided his cover story of how he'd brought Brody to Iran.

Javadi ordered the guard out of their squalid cell and sighed, "Are you ready?"

"Ready for what?" Brody twitched.

"To go with me to Tehran." Javadi smiled knowingly.

Brody nodded and inclined his head towards Yousef, "What about him?"

Javadi pulled a gun from his jacket pocket and turned, but was instantly distracted by a noisy commotion outside the cell door.

The door burst open and Samira Rezaei ran in holding a gun against the petrified guard's temple.

Javadi's lips parted in confusion, giving Yousef the split second he needed to leap and disarm Javadi, pressing the gun into his bony spine.

"Your guard is going to get my friends safely back across the border into Iraq," Brody gripped Javadi around the throat. "You and I are still going to Tehran as planned."

Javadi's eyes were venomous as he nodded his assent to Brody. He hurriedly explained to the terrified guard what he needed to do.

The trembling guard led Yousef and Samira down the corridor. He grabbed two military jackets and helmets and gestured for them to put them on. They all went outside and climbed into a filthy jeep.

They were waved through the nearby military checkpoint without incident and the guard stopped the vehicle a mile down the road. "Where do you need to go?" he asked meekly in Farsi.

"Here's just fine," Samira flashed her most charming smile, then shot the guard in the forehead without warning.

"What did you do that for?" Yousef stared in disbelief before glancing around anxiously, finding each breath harder to expel.

"Calm down! That guard might have talked and compromised Brody and Javadi getting to Tehran safely." Samira gestured to the familiar truck approaching along the track. "Anyway, here come your friends to take us home."

...

Yousef and Samira huddled on the back seat together as the truck bounced over the dusty terrain. "How on earth did you get into the prison?" Yousef asked, his hands still shaking.

"I walked alone to the check-point and told the soldiers who I am. They all knew about the estranged wife of Ebi Rezaei, the Al-Qaeda Commander!" Samira smirked. "They took me prisoner thinking they'd won the lottery! My husband is offering a big reward for my capture."

"Why?" Yousef was confused.

"Ebi personally wants to stone me to death for leaving him," Samira chuckled as if it was a hilarious joke to her, then her voice wavered. "As if I haven't already received enough beatings at his hands."

"Bastard," Yousef swallowed, attempting to suppress his rising fury at the thought.

"I was in the cell next door to you for hours," Samira explained, absently caressing the back of Yousef's hand with her manicured fingernails. "My door had bars and I saw Javadi's guard step back out into the corridor... I quickly enticed him to open my cell door and I snatched his gun, so I could rescue you."

"Enticed him?" Yousef raised an eyebrow.

"He didn't hesitate!" Samira pouted wickedly, as if acutely aware of her allure. "Seems I got into your cell just in time."

"That's an understatement," Yousef shuddered as he recalled Javadi's finger on the trigger of the gun pointing at his face.

"So," Samira smiled warmly. "It's all good. Brody and Javadi are on their way to Tehran to assassinate Danesh Akbari... and you're taking me to the United States to get my citizenship."

"You risked your own life to save mine," Yousef boldly squeezed her hand. "Why?"

"I needed to find you of course!" Samira giggled. "Because you're going to offer me a job in the United States."

"I am?" Yousef assessed her curiously.

"At your Medical Centre in Dam Neck, Virginia," she grinned.

Yousef was puzzled, "Why would you want to work there?"

"Because I've met a guy," Samira sighed peacefully as she rested her head on Yousef's muscular shoulder. "A kind, wonderful, sweet Doctor who already works there."


	5. Kicking it Deserves

_**Author's note:**_

This great prompt was from **Bookworm1986**...

_**A funny one shot where poor Yousef finds himself in the middle of/refereeing a Brody/Quinn slanging match**_

_I tried to make parts of it funny, but it kept drifting into different emotional territory..._

_Set during S3 E9 (One Last Time) - This is sort of a sequel to my earlier one-shot in this collection called "Only a Fool"._

**...**

**Kicking it Deserves**

**...**

Nicholas Brody entered the communal TV room avoiding eye contact with it's single occupant who was loitering at the Dam Neck training facility.

Peter Quinn flinched and assertively guarded his personal space. "Where's Carrie?" He was actually waiting for his friend Yousef Turani to return from the shower room.

"She telephoned Saul about something," Brody shrugged, his gaze bouncing nervously to the exit. "Then she left."

"Maybe she's convincing Saul to ship you off to Guantanamo," Quinn stood abruptly, his chair scuffing the floor loudly. "Instead of his hare-brained scheme to send you out into the field."

"Some things never change do they?" Brody's fists clenched. "I go travelling for a few months and when I get back... Peter Quinn is still a dick."

"Travelling! Is that what you call it? Quinn cocked his head, sarcastically. "I'd call it being a fugitive. You're still the world's most wanted terrorist!"

"I didn't do anything!" Brody yelled, throwing his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

"No?!" Quinn roared, his neck muscles taut. "Try telling your suicidal daughter that."

"What's going on?" Yousef Turani ran into the room, a tight white T-shirt outlining his muscular torso. "I could hear you guys down the corridor!"

"Yousef, this is Peter Quinn." A vein throbbed in Brody's forehead. "He's a hand-stabbing bastard."

Yousef rubbed his dark beard, confused. He'd heard his best friend described as a lot of things before, but never that.

"He's a CIA Analyst," Brody turned and lowered his trousers, exposing hips and pale butt cheeks. "Analyse... _this_."

"Put your scrawny ass away!" Quinn sneered, gripping the back of the nearest chair. "Before I give it the kicking it deserves."

"You guys need to calm down," Yousef folded his arms and stepped to form an immovable barrier between them. "Brody, please pull your pants up."

"Saul's giving me a chance to be a marine again," Brody hitched up his trousers and peeked around Yousef's muscles to eyeball Quinn. "He trusts me."

"Is that what you think?" Quinn laughed coldly. "One way or another, Saul's going to make you pay for what you did."

"What I did..." Brody's face stretched into a snarl. "Was lose eight years of my life in a hole for this country."

"No, what you did..." Quinn's jaw clenched. "Was kill Elizabeth Gaines, attempt to assassinate the Vice President and had Carrie undergo ECT because you convinced her she was crazy."

"That's enough, Quinn!" Yousef jabbed his finger angrily. "Be nice!"

"Hell, at least I didn't shoot Carrie," Brody's tone was scathing. "She told me why she's wearing that sling!"

"I grazed her arm," Quinn mocked, inhaling a long breath. "Sue me."

"You bastard!" Brody dived for Quinn, but was restrained mid-flight by Yousef.

"You need to leave now, Brody," Yousef spoke calmly. "This level of stress is not good for your recovery."

"Whatcha gonna do?" Brody's eyes bulged. "Give me more Ibogaine?"

"Ibogaine?" Quinn bent down so he was nose to nose with Brody. "Sounds like somebody got addicted to the high life on their travels? So what's Doctor Turani trying to get you off? Heroin? Cocaine?"

"Drop it," Yousef clipped Quinn around the ear. "That's confidential and none of your business."

"So you've been living it up in South America?!" Quinn imitated sniffing a line along the back of his hand. "Partying in a flashy apartment in Caracas with your own personal concierge?"

Brody swallowed, then paled and shuddered as he slumped within Yousef's hold. "Paco!" He started hyper-ventilating. "I've got to save Paco! He's just a kid!"

Yousef rested Brody down onto the couch gently and turned to Quinn. "I told you to shut up. Leave Brody alone."

"Leave Brody alone," Quinn whined it back to him in a sing-song voice.

"Quinn! Stop being such a dick!" Yousef had never seen his friend behave like this. "What is your problem?"

"My problem is Nicholas Brody," Quinn hissed. "My problem is the number of people that mysteriously die when he's around. Vice President Bill Walden for starters."

"Issa!" Brody moaned painfully which caused Yousef to crouch down and take his pulse. "Paco!"

"Walden's pacemaker malfunctioned?" Quinn continued mercilessly. "My ass!"

Brody suddenly sprang from the couch and knocked Quinn to the floor. They punched and rolled until Yousef wedged his huge boot between them, then he bent and banged their heads together.

"What did you do that for?" Quinn and Brody yelped in unison at the glowering Yousef.

"I told you guys to calm down!" Yousef pointed at them in turn. "You're behaving like little kids."

"Brody started it," Quinn grumbled, rubbing his sore forehead. "Called me a dick earlier."

"Oh believe me..." Brody pressed the tender beginnings of a bruise. "It started way back... when you stabbed me in the hand!"

"You wanna know why I did that?" Quinn smiled insincerely. "It was pure theatre. Me and Carrie were having fun playing good cop, bad cop with you."

Yousef gritted his teeth, "Stop it Quinn."

"Fun?!" Brody flashed the back of his hand. "Look at this red scar... It's from your knife!"

"Hey," Quinn pointed to the assortment of needle marks on Brody's forearm. "Look at those pretty little scars."

"You know nothing!" Tears welled in Brody's eyes. "About the Tower of David... Or that evil slum Doctor..."

"Brody, go back to your room." Yousef ordered firmly. "Now! I'll be there in a few minutes."

Brody sniffed as he glared at Quinn, "Don't think for a minute that this is over!"

"You're right," Quinn's eyes narrowed as he watched Brody leave. "This is just the beginning."

...

"What the hell was all that about, Quinn?" Yousef Turani offered his friend his hip flask after he'd returned from comforting and stabilising Brody. "Not like you to kick a man when he's down?"

"The usual stuff," Quinn sighed after taking a sharp swig. "What do guys always fight about?"

"Survival? Power?" Yousef's brow furrowed. "Women?"

Quinn shrugged nonchalantly.

"A woman?" The dawning realisation hit Yousef. "Carrie?"

Quinn nodded and wondered if the heartache he felt would ever ease.


	6. Stupid Yellow Fruit

**Author's note:**

This fab prompt was from **Brainraccoons** on Tumblr...

**_I've got a prompt in mind that's ridiculous, but amuses me greatly. Set before Carrie starts showing she's pregnant, she's working surveillance (or something else equally boring) when she starts getting cravings. At first it's just mildly strange but it starts raising eyebrows when she starts asking for increasingly weirder stuff like a specific temperature in the room, or pickled eggs or something. (Incidentally, I'm feeling majorly sad, so please make this one funny and lighthearted. Thanks!)_**

_Spoilers for S3 E6 (Still Positive)_

**...**

**Stupid Yellow Fruit**

**...**

Virgil re-read the list that Carrie had manically scribbled when he'd asked if she wanted anything from the grocery store. He'd been planning on fetching a couple of cokes, maybe some chocolate bars. The idea was to keep their caffeine and attention levels stable, in the absence of any coffee in the surveillance van.

_- Six pink grapefruits  
- One lime  
- Bar of Dove soap (white)  
- Four chocolate Easter eggs_

"Easter eggs?" Virgil muttered under his breath. "In December?" He eyed the seasonal display and wondered if the hollow chocolate snowmen in foil wrappers would suffice.

"I don't think you've got time for Christmas shopping," Peter Quinn nudged Virgil from behind. "Get back to your van."

"What are you doing here?" asked Virgil. "I thought you were in the follow car across the street?"

"Carrie texted me," Quinn snapped. "Said she needed some Blu-Tack and Scotch magic tape urgently."

"Sticky tape?" Virgil looked out through the grocery store window. "Oh no, what has Max broken this time?"

"I thought it best to come and get some quickly," Quinn puffed. "Can you take it back to her?"

Virgil nodded, "Throw it in the basket with her other stuff."

Quinn curiously eyed the contents of Virgil's shopping basket. "Six grapefruits?"

"Yeah, I hope these yellow ones will be okay," Virgil sighed. "She wanted pink."

"Is Carrie okay?" Quinn sounded concerned. "I mean mentally stable?"

"I think so. She seems healthy. Certainly eating well," Virgil nodded. "She'd eaten everything out of my lunch box by eight o' clock this morning."

"Maybe she's on a new fad diet or something," Quinn smirked. "Probably an improvement on the biohazard yoghurts in her fridge."

Virgil chuckled in agreement, "Right I'm going to pay."

"Don't leave the van again," Quinn scolded.

"Carrie's in charge today." Virgil sniffed impertinently. "I'll follow _her_ orders."

...

"You feeling okay?" Virgil's eyes narrowed as Carrie pounced on the chocolate snowmen and greedily devoured all four of them in under a minute.

"Mmmmm..." She wiped her mouth and eagerly rummaged in the grocery bag again. "Just hungry."

"What. Is. This?" Carrie glared at Virgil accusingly. "Yellow? I wanted pink grapefruits!"

"None in the store," Virgil shrugged. "Only the yellow ones."

"But yellow is no good," Carrie prodded the offending citrus fruit, sniffed it tentatively, then grimaced in disgust. "The yellow ones don't smell right." She swiftly dropped it back into the bag and dug deeper. "Where's the lime?"

"Sorry, no limes either," Virgil shook his head. "But I found you a small lemon instead."

"You really don't get it, do you?" Carrie's eyes blazed. "If I wanted yellow fruit, I'd have asked for yellow fruit!" She threw the lemon and it bounced off Max's shoulder.

"Calm down," warned Virgil. "Do you need to take a tablet?"

"What I need..." Carrie hissed. "Is the right colour fruit. I need you to bring me exactly what I ask for!"

"I got you the soap," Virgil smiled hopefully.

"Thank God!" Carrie's hand delved again, increasingly frustrated with the bulky grapefruits, she tossed them over onto the empty driver's seat. "Stupid yellow fruit."

"Dove," Virgil winked proudly as Carrie finally got her hands on the bar of soap. "Just what you asked for."

Carrie caressed the white bar lovingly after she had unwrapped it, "Perfect." She inhaled deeply, then set it aside when she spotted the Scotch magic tape.

Max assessed Carrie out of the corner of his eye as she carefully licked the outer layer of the roll of tape. He looked quizzically at Virgil who responded with an indiscernible shrug as she sought her next goody.

"Get ready guys," Quinn's voice crackled over the radio. "Paul Franklin is on the move."

Virgil leapt to the steering wheel, landing on the pile of yellow grapefruits in the process. "For God's sake Carrie!"

"Wow, this Blu-Tack is really good!" Carrie's jaw pressed down hard as she chewed.

"You might have Pica disorder," Max leant towards Carrie knowingly. "Do you often have cravings to eat non-nutritive substances?"

"I'm not eating it," Carrie waved dismissively, "Just chewing it. Do you guys want some? It's like gum!"

"Save it for Saul," Virgil grinned over his shoulder at them. "He's the gum connoisseur."

"Black jack gum," muttered Max. "Keep finding those damn wrappers everywhere."

...

**Later that day**

"Quinn, that is _my_ gum," Carrie snatched the blue pack away from him.

"Hey, I'm sticking these papers on the wall." Quinn grabbed the cardboard packet back. "It's Fara's timeline of Javadi's financial transactions."

"But _THAT_ is _MY_ special gum!" Carrie shrieked as she unsuccessfully tried to extract the Blu-Tack from Quinn's grip.

"Did somebody say gum?" Saul grinned as he sauntered into the conference room. "Gimme some!"

"Help yourself," Quinn tossed the stretchy blue compound over to Saul who examined it, disappointed.

Carrie trembled in fury, then ran to the wall, angrily ripping down the papers and greedily pulling the blue reusable adhesive balls off at the corners.

"Carrie!" Fara cried softly in horror. "Those are Javadi's financial reports! I only printed one copy."

"Use a cork board in future," Carrie growled. "And push pins."

Fara nodded apologetically, "Sure."

"All the blue gum in Langley belongs to _me_ from now on," Carrie jabbed her finger at her confused audience as she backed out of the door. "Every last bit of it!"

...

"Pica," Max explained to the others as they scrabbled on the floor to collate Fara's papers. "Cravings for non-food items. It can sometimes happen when women are..."

"Pregnant," Fara whispered.

Quinn's eyes widened. He stared at Saul for any reaction to Max and Fara's surprising insight.

"Carrie's bipolar, not pregnant," Saul reassured them, shaking his head sympathetically. "She can chew what she likes... as long she stays away from my stash of lucky gum."


End file.
